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Copyright 1920 
Louise D. Anderton 



©CI.A601559 
NOV 16 1920 



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timid Soul, yet unafraid, 
Has heard the Master's call, 

To journey on beyond Earth's realm, 
Where reigns the L,ord of all. 

The path is rough, the way is long, 

But at the end is rest ; 
For God is there amidst a throng 

Of Heavenly angels blest. 

Tier upon tier, all robed in white, 
Their song of praise they sing ; 

Wafted to God through day and night, 
The mighty Heavens ring ! 

"Fear not, then, faithful, weary Soul, 

An angel 's guiding thee ; 
There's many a step to reach the goal, 

So thou must patient be." 

Though dark the way at times must be, 

She falters not at all ; 
For well she knows that soon she'll see 

Beyond Earth's darkest pall. 



Behold ! A glorious light appears 

To speed her on her way ; 
For naught can now arouse her fears, 

Nor hold, nor bid her stay. 

With quickening steps, she hastens toward 

The vision she beholds, 
To find she's face to face with God, 

Whose love He thus unfolds. 

Overwhelmed with joy at sight of Him, 

Whose glory has no bounds, 
She falls prostrate, as one grand hymn 

Bursts forth in mighty sounds ! 

Then gently does the Father raise 

This Soul to heights of love, 
That she may join in giving praise, 

With all the Saints above. 

Triumphantly, with one accord, 

The music swells on high, 
In never ceasing love of God, 

Where nothing now can die. 

O final joy ! she now beholds 
Those dear ones loved on Earth, 

Who to her heart she thus enfolds, 
Iyike to a glorious birth. 



i^fesienkide/ 







'BR lake and hill, the afterglow 

Of day's departing sun 
Breathes fragrant zephyrs soft and low, 

'Till earth and peace are one. 

The birds their vesper song have sung, 

Of varied notes and trills ; 
Forgetful not to feed their young, 

They're off across the hills. 

In rapid flight they wing their way, 

To nest before night falls ; 
Awake again at break of day, 

With cheery woodland calls. 



AtKitchaivan 
Westchester C aunty 



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'^hb shadows of the night have passed, 
The mists are rolled away, 
When the sun, in all its glory, 
Comes up at break of day. 

Only a ball of red at first 

Appeareth out the sky ; 
Bursting forth in rays of splendor, 

Wending its way on high. 

There to wrap the earth in sunshine 
Where all may bask who will ; 

Unheedful what the morrow brings, 
Today, our hearts we fill. 

The day is spent ; it disappears, 
To throw its light elsewhere, 

And gladden other hearts like ours, 
With sunshine bright and fair. 



e)ne/ DenaiJh 



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,ith steadfast hearts they march along, 

All eager for the fray ; 
A song, a cheer on every lip, 

They're off to save the day. 



From wanton lust and greed of gain 

That menaces our land ; 
They cannot choose the easy path, 

When country does demand. 

A fond farewell to loved ones dear, 

A promise to fulfill 
Their duty toward both God and man, 

E'en though it be to kill. 

They dare not take the backward glance, 

For brave as they may be, 
'Twould break their hearts to see the grief 

Of those who set them free. 

Seems but a night to manhood grown, 

These lads with kit and gun, 
Ready to fight for Freedom's cause, 

And die to crush the Hun. 



September. 191$ 



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(^HvKntly, among the hills, 

^ Apart from toil and strife and ills, 

Serenely lies a spot so fair, 

St. Mary's ! rest from ev'ry care. 

Vale of all abiding peace, 

Where God's beauties never cease ; 
Angels watch by day and night, 

Under His unfailing light. 

Weeping willows, bending low, 
Cast their shadows as they blow 

O'er a lake so crystal clear, 

Heav'n and earth seem very near. 

Not for those who here must sleep, 
Do the weeping willows weep : 

But for those who in their loss, 
Seek not comfort from the Cross. 



At Greenwich 
Connecticut 



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GyAiNDiNG in and out along its rugged way, 
***' Tumbling, splashing over rocks the live-long day, 
Through umbrageous woods and fragrant meadows green, 
Under rustic bridge, then down a deep ravine. 

There to swirl and leap as if in gleeful play, 
Scrambling out again, merrily and so gay, 

To the music of the woodland symphony, 

Rushing gladly on so blithesome and carefree. 

As if propelled by some unseen, hidden force, 
So rapidly does it wind upon its course, 

With unresisting speed it answers the call, 
To plunge over cliff in magic waterfall. 



At Greenwich 
Connecticut 



Cyo/yd' Cy 'tietiB' 



'^Twas sweet of you to call on me, 
When I should call on you ; 
For often times I lie in bed, 

A feeling sort of blue : 
When to my joy, in walks a friend, 

Of mem'ry dear and true ; 
We reminisce on summer days, 
Though past, still ever new. 



The Evening Post Job Printing Office, Inc. 
154 Fulton Street, New York 







